


The Nine

by the_pale_rider



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), Middle-earth: Shadow of War (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Nazgûl | Ringwraiths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pale_rider/pseuds/the_pale_rider
Summary: Word has reached the Dark Lord Sauron that the One Ring has been found. The Nine gather in Minas Morgul to receive their orders.





	The Nine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mash up of the Ringwraiths introduced in Middle-earth: Shadow of War and those created by Games Workshop for their Lord of the Rings Battle Strategy Game. None of the characters are mine.

The brotherhood gathered at the summit of the tower, heeding their master’s call. Although not true brothers, they were all bound together by fate. The Rings of Power they wore ensured they would remain enslaved until the ending of the world. The audience chamber at the tower’s peak, like the rest of the city, glowed with a spectral green luminescence that cast eerie shadows across the high pale walls. Eight arrayed themselves in a circle, surrounding the central dais. The greatest of them, the one known as the Witch-King of Angmar, stood upon the raised platform. He held one of the Palantír and it glowed with a fiery orange light, transmitting the will of their lord and master, the Dark Lord Sauron.

“The One was been found. It is far to the North, in a land called ‘the Shire’ in the hands of a ‘Baggins’. Go forth and return it to me.” The harsh whisper echoed in minds of the Nine and around the chamber. They stirred, their forms rippling in the shadowy gloom. Since the battles against the hated Elves and upstart Men at the foot of Orodruin, the Ruling Ring had been lost. They always felt its presence; a faint gnawing inside them but no rumour had been heard since Isildur had taken the One and been slain in an ambush near the Gladden Fields.

“It will be done my lord,” intoned the Witch-King. The glow illuminating the Palantír faded as the Dark Lord’s presence receded. Placing the orb onto its plinth, the Lord of the Nazgûl turned to his brothers.

“Do we leave immediately?” asked the Easterling. “All of us?” The Witch-King’s second, Khamûl once hailed from the land of Rhûn, far to the East. He still wore the dirty bronze hauberk and mask and crimson robes of his people beneath his black cloak.

“Yes. The return of the One is paramount. None of our foes are in position to resist us. They likely believe it lost in the Anduin.”

“Then let us ride forth with our full strength,” cut in another. One of the few of the Nine to recall his mortal name, Suladân was once a King of Númenor, the lost island kingdom of Men. A brilliant military tactician and strategist, he had led a great army against Sauron and lain siege to his fortress. Rather than fight, the Dark Lord capitulated and offered him a Ring a Power, which he accepted. Believing Sauron tamed, Suladân returned to Númenor with the Maia in chains as a trophy. However, the Ring of Power exerted its corrosive influence and Sauron was able to rise to become the king’s closest advisor. Eventually, Suladân fell and returned to Mordor with his master as one of the Nine.

“Agreed,” added the Dark Marshal. “Osgiliath cannot stand before the might of our armies. It will fall and open the door to the West. We can crush Gondor and recover the One as we conquer Middle-Earth.”

“You think to act so openly before the Dark Lord deems it ready?” hissed the Betrayer. “You are no longer a mere warlord brother. We should act in secret and recover the One quietly and return it with all speed.”

“Cease your pathetic mewling! Do not seek to pass off petty sycophancy as wisdom,” snapped the Marshal. “My skills are best used on the battlefield.” He turned to their leader. “I request that Suladân and I be allowed to finish the siege on the Anduin whilst others skulk in the shadows.”

“Denied brother,” replied the Witch-King flatly. “For once the Betrayer is right. We are all needed for this task, and secrecy is essential. We are not yet ready to reveal our true strength.”

“What of the Istari?” Alone amongst his brothers, the Undying carried a gnarled staff of black wood in mocking imitation of the Maiar sent from across the Sea to combat the will of his master. “After our abandonment of Dol Guldur, they will be waiting for us to move.” 

“Indeed, and fear not brother,” replied the Witch-King. “You will have the chance to face them again.” Once a powerful sorcerer, the Undying had used his Ring of Power to seek out lost and forbidden arcane knowledge. But his Ring fuelled his desire further and drove him to practice dark magic that saw him cast out. Since becoming one of the Nine, he received instruction in the blackest magics from Sauron and the Witch-King. Hanging from his waist and bound in lengths of slender chain was a sum of his studies, a grimoire of sorcerous knowledge plumbed from the libraries of Barad-dûr.

“How shall we proceed then brothers?” Whilst the chamber glowed with an eerie gravelight, the air around the Shadow Lord was swathed in impenetrable darkness. Once the ruler of a minor and insignificant kingdom, the Shadow Lord was nonetheless proud and ambitious. When Sauron offered him one of the Nine Rings, he took it without question and used it to expand his realm and empower and enrich himself. Utterly consumed by its power, his dark pride manifested around him as a pall of shadow.

“I care not how,” rumbled another. “I wish only to fight.” Formerly a King of a Mark, Helm Hammerhand was a grim and unforgiving warrior. In life, he had been ambushed and mortally wounded whilst his beloved daughter had been kidnapped and forced to marry Freca, a wealthy nobleman. On the verge of death, he had been gifted a Ring of Power and filled with new life and terrible fury. Storming the Freca’s hall, he had charged forward to strike him down with one mighty blow of his warhammer. In that moment, his daughter sought to interpose herself between them and was killed instantly. Grief stricken, Helm had descended into a battle frenzy, bludgeoning Freca and his men to death. When his own men tried to calm him, he turned on them as well, slaughtering everyone in the hall. As the Ring corrupted his body and spirit, only that rage remained.

“Control yourself brother,” replied the Shadow Lord. “We must move in darkness and quietly if we wish to find the One. Our enemies cannot be allowed to know that we seek to return it to the Dark Lord.”

“What does the Ranger say?” The Witch-King inclined his spiked helm to the newest of the Nine. He stood slightly apart from his brothers, as if unwilling to be part of the discussion.

The wraith he addressed moved forward. “Together our strength is unrivalled. We should move quickly to find the One and claim it before our enemies realise our intent.” He hesitated. “Gondor can wait. They do not have the strength to retake Osgiliath. It and the White City will fall.” Beneath the heavy black cloak, the garb of a Ranger of Gondor could be seen. Talion had once been revived and possessed by the spirit of Celebrimbor and together they had fought a guerrilla war within Mordor against the Dark Lord, forging an army of Uruks to lead against him. Even the Nazgûl could not combat the supernatural powers of Bright Lord and Talion had succeeded in slaying Isildur and releasing him from Sauron’s control. But Celebrimbor had then abandoned his vessel and only by taking Isildur’s Ring could Talion survive. Resisting its corrupting power, Talion then fought to contain the forces of Mordor and buy time for the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth. But eventually he had succumbed and fallen into darkness to join his brothers.

“You would know Ranger,” snarled Helm. They had crossed paths during Talion’s campaign against Sauron and the Man had humbled him. He took a step towards his brother, hefting his warhammer in both hands.

Tailon stared impassively at his towering brother. “I beat you once Helm. Do not goad me into doing so again, in front of our brothers.”

“Peace brothers!” The Witch-King cut off Helm before the furious Nazgûl could reply. “The Ranger is right, despite only recently joining our brotherhood. We will depart for this ‘Shire’ at once, find the ‘Baggins’ who keeps the One from its true master!”


End file.
